


A Whisper of a Honey-Soaked Keyboard

by Pokegeek151



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Cecil is Mostly Human, I don't have many plans for this yet, I have only just started, I need to find alternate descriptors instead of "honey", I've had this idea for a while, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, New Voice?, Not my first fic ever though, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Siren, Titles are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:43:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8458774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokegeek151/pseuds/Pokegeek151
Summary: When a mysterious girl with a voice that fills the mind with thick clouds of honey shows up at the station interested in radio, Cecil is unsure how to react.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first WTNV fic. I don't really have plans for where this will eventually go, but if y'all like it, I will probably continue it. Feel free to send me ideas for the future.
> 
> Update: I now have most of the next chapter written, as well as a scene for a soonish chapter. But still, overall plot plans elude me. Perhaps I should have put more thought into this before I started posting it... Oh well. Also, I basically reuploaded the first chapter after getting one of my friends to read it and after reading it myself again. So now it's better. It is likely this will happen with future chapters. Don't worry; I'll let you know if I do that.
> 
> P.S. I don't own WTNV. Oh, golly do I wish I do, though.

It had been a normal day, comparatively. Nothing new to report. The Secret Police had completed their annual home invasion drills with resounding success; the librarian that had escaped just a few days ago had been captured and decapitated by one of Tamika Flynn’s militia, and Intern Henry had survived his investigation into the glowing paper cranes that had been popping up around town. All in all, a slow news day.

  


And then Cecil met the girl.

  


He had just finished his broadcast and was in the recently converted gender neutral restroom feeding Khoshekh when the door creaked open slowly and a young woman, no older than seventeen walked in and began petting one of the kittens, who purred delightedly.

  


After a few moments of silence, Cecil turned and spoke. “Do you need help with anything?”

  


The girl looked up from the kitten and stared at him unblinking. She wore a nice button down shirt over plain black pants and a purple woolen headband over her ears. The yarn looked thick and most likely muffled any sounds attempting to fill her ears. Strapped to her left forearm appeared to be a thin keyboard and in her left hand was a small screen slightly larger than a smartphone.

  


She is not tall, in fact somewhat short, certainly shorter than Cecil, who was of average height. Her dark hair fell in a cascade behind her head, pulled back smoothly by the wide headband.

  


She stared at Cecil with her hawk-like eyes, one green-blue and the other blue-green. They were wide like the endless Void but full of life and light and they seemed to glisten like the ocean that never existed in this desert.

  


For a moment, she was completely eerily still. Then she blinked once and her body returned to what a normal human would look like if they were to stare at a community radio host in a mysterious desert city. She gave no inclination that she was planning on responding.

  


“Are you okay?” Cecil asked, only passively concerned. This was not the first time a stranger stared at him unblinking in a public restroom. She was probably fine.

  


She blinked at him once, then raised her left arm and began typing on the small keyboard with one hand, her gaze shifting to the keys as her slender fingers flew deftly across them with practiced precision. She held up the screen so that Cecil could read what it said.

 

Hello, Cecil Palmer

  


“Oh, hello,” he replied, only mildly surprised at her preferred method of communication. “What’s your name?”

  


A series of taps.

  


Thelxiope

  


“I see, um…” He hesitated, unsure of the pronunciation.

  


Thel is fine

  


Cecil grinned, always easy to please. “Thank you. How can I help you, Thel?”

  


She stared at him, typing nothing.

  


Curious, Cecil tried to question the girl. “Are you a new intern? I can never keep track of when we get new ones.” She merely shook her head. “A fan, then?”

  


She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it and typed on her keyboard.

  


Just intrigued. I want to do radio

  


Cecil’s grin softened into a different type of smile, something more nostalgic for an ancient time he wished he could remember when he first began his radio journey, something encouraging and proud like a father whose child is interested in the family business.

  


Your voice is like velvet. You have a gift. You have a Voice. I want to be the same

  


Cecil’s smile faltered for a moment. He realized a critical issue with the poor girl’s dream. “Can you speak?”

  


Thel opened her mouth, closed it nervously, then opened it again. “ _**Yes** _.” In that single word, the air seemed to melt around Cecil as everything fell away and for an instant, he was warm and at peace. The sound of her voice filled his mind and even his very soul and he craved it like a drug. He took a half step forward without realizing it, his eyes glossed over as that single syllable washed over and around him like Carlos had described Cecil’s own voice; smooth and soft, comforting in the terrifying world they all inhabited.

  


Thel took a full step back and the look of fear and regret in her eyes was enough to snap Cecil out of his reverie. He blinked several times and looked around him, seeing the colors of the bathroom tiles a bit brighter and hearing the faint popping of Khoshekh and his kittens’ roiling flesh a bit more clearly. The sound of his own breathing and heartbeat were deafening in his own ears and he had a hard time keeping his gaze away from Thel’s blue-green and green-blue eyes.

  


“What...what did you do?” He asked, his breath seemingly loud and his voice feeling less smooth and rich than usual as if his voice was suddenly revealed to be inferior in his own mind.

  


I’m sorry. I thought it would be best to just show you instead of trying to explain

  


“...Uh huh.” He felt a bit out of breath.

  


It’s hard to tone it down, which is why I want to do radio. I want to be able to speak freely. Plus, it’s not as strong when it’s recorded, and I figured you could train me

  


She paused, allowing him to read before continuing.

  


You *are* the Voice of Night Vale, after all

  


Cecil grabbed the cool ceramic edge of a sink to steady himself. The cold was fierce and real and helped to ground his still floating thoughts. All his senses were more sensitive after the molasses bath of his nerves that was her single word “yes”, and his head was reeling from the overstimulation.

  


“I-I suppose I can try, but not right now.”

  


She nods solemnly.

  


I will come back tomorrow, then. After your broadcast? I don’t want to mess anything up with your... It’s important to stay sober while on the job

  


Cecil thought it was strange that Thel spoke of her voice as if it were a drug or liquor. A thought occurred to him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you?”

  


She looked him in all three of his eyes with her two somehow. She nodded slowly, once, practically to herself, then didn’t move for a time. Her eyes slowly slid away until she was staring at some point far away that happened to lie beyond the bathroom floor ever-so-slightly to the right of Cecil’s black heels. Eventually, she looked at her keyboard and carefully typed out a single word.

  
  
Siren

**Author's Note:**

> Again, no plans. Feel free to hit me up. With ideas.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else ever feel sort of giddy and nervous when you post a piece online like this? A sort of tingling that lingers in your stomach that rise to your throat as you hover over the post button like you're holding a match head to the side of the box willing, yourself to strike it but ultimately never setting it ablaze? That, except I have yet to use the matches in my box except for Shabbat candles and here I am sharing this with you. I think it's because it's fanfiction and the public perception of fanfiction makes it almost taboo. But when "ordinary" people think of fanfiction, they think smut, and I don't write smut, so I don't know why I get that match-about-to-strike feeling. It's not like anyone I know will see this unless I show it to them. Almost none of my friends are in this fandom. But now I'm rambling. Anyway, let me know if you want more of this. Any of it.


End file.
